Classic Poem

TO PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY .

Only these tears! Not bitter drops like those
Which from thy lacerated heart were shed,
Mixed with the blood of thy Promethean throes;
But those we weep for the beloved dead,
When time has calmed and purified the pain
And melancholy peace has come again.

Only these tears, for that divinest prize
Which thou with sacrifice sublime didst win;
The angel at the gates of Paradise
Scorches the hearts of those who venture in,
To bring again into the world, a glance
Of its lost happiness and radiance.

Beauty is born with travail; the young Spring
Blooms on the bosom of a Summer dead;
The splendors of the Autumn languishing
Are nature's dying hues of gold and red;
The strife, the sorrow, the neglect, the wrong,
Are changed within the Poet's soul to song.

Oh thou, of dreamers brightest, and of men
Most gentle and most loving, yet least loved!
Is there no recompense of word or pen,
No high revenge thou mightest have approved,
For all the scorn, the sorrow and the shame?
Only these tears! — Oh Poet, this is fame!